


A Love to Last

by gammafrostradiation



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Drabble, Reunion, gammafrost - Freeform, things I write when I am sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:11:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gammafrostradiation/pseuds/gammafrostradiation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thought Loki was dead. But even an old man could cling to a hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Love to Last

Bruce stood with difficulty. His old joints were riddled with arthritis, and it was often painful to move. He propped himself up with his cane, a slender and simple black cylinder of metal his friend Tony Stark had made for him. Tony had died years ago. It was the last remembrance he had of him. They were all gone. Tony, Tash, Clint. Even Steve had passed away. Tash and Clint’s kids dropped in every so often. They insisted he retire to a nursing home, their argument being that an old man living alone was dangerous. Bruce refused. He would live independently in his own house until his last breath was drawn. 

The first step he took was always the hardest, but he took a deep breath and pushed off the cane, setting his right foot firmly on the carpet. With measured movements, he hobbled to the kitchen and put the kettle on. He chose an herbal tea from the cabinet and set out his favourite mug, a gift from Pepper. She was gone, too. She didn’t last long after Tony died. He leaned against the counter, tapping a rhythm with his cane on the tile while he waited for the water to boil. He always knew that he would outlive the others. But still he had hoped that he wouldn’t end up so lonely. It seemed his personal curse, loneliness. He had thought he had broken it with Loki, but the god had never returned from Asgard when Thor had taken him for sentencing all those years ago. Bruce assumed he was dead, but for some reason, still harboured a dim ember of hope that he would return no matter how impossible. The impossible had happened to Bruce his whole life. Why not now? 

The Hulk was still there, in the back of his mind. He had grown quieter over the years, less of an imposing presence and more of a comforting one. He would never be alone. Not truly. He would always have a big green rage monster to keep him company. 

The kettle whistled, and Bruce lifted it off the eye, requiring the strength of both arms for the task. His action caused his cane to clatter to the floor, and he cursed, the rasp of his voice and the noise of the metal against the tile loud in the empty house. He poured the tea and painfully positioned his body to retrieve the cane. Before he could bend down, he heard a voice he thought he would never hear again. 

“Here, Bruce.” The words were softly uttered, an apologetic tone underlying the velvet tide that washed them into existence. Bruce hesitantly reached for the aid, eyes following the black line to the pale hand clasped around it, a hand he used to know. It was still long and elegant though lined with age. The hand connected to an arm wrapped in green cloth and black leather, another familiar sight. He finally settled his eyes on the visitor’s face as his hand closed on the cane, taking it. The raven hair was streaked with grey, and the skin was etched with wrinkles. He was still beautiful. Tired but happy green eyes looked back at him, tears collecting in the corners. The lips moved again, forming new words to travel on that magic voice. “I have returned. Just like I said I would.” 

Bruce shook his head and took a step back. He was old. He was borderline senile. He had a mind that reproduced all his memories before him. One time, it had been Betty, aged into a graceful old woman, waking him up with a kiss and a smile. Another time, it had been Tony making his usual jokes and clapping him on the back. Both had disappeared into nothing. The past haunted him. And Loki was just another memory, another trick his mind played off his loneliness. 

Loki’s smile slipped off his face. “Bruce. You have to believe me. I am here.” He reached out for him, resting his hands on the sides of Bruce’s withered face and closed the space between them, holding his gaze.

The touch felt so real. Bruce wanted to believe it was. He wanted to step into his arms and bury his face in the smell that was Loki. Loki’s thumbs wiped away the tears that had begun to fall from the brown eyes. He quickly weighed how much it would hurt to wake up from this dream against how nice an embrace would feel. Or maybe he wouldn’t wake up. Maybe he was finally dead, alone in an old house to be found after a week. Maybe God or Buddha or Vishnu had finally gathered some pity for him and had sent him to heaven. He decided he didn’t care anymore and let Loki pull him into a hug, his cane clattering again to the floor. But this time, it didn’t echo as loudly.


End file.
